The Broken Radio
by Rach3
Summary: Jenny reflects on her breakup with Will.


Author's Note: My take on the Jenny/Will break-up. Jenny POV. Thanks to Kat, the most rockin' beta around!

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just having some fun.

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Up to "Page 47"

Archive: Sure, just let me know.

************  
The Broken Radio  
************  
  
I lied about the radio.

It's amazing the asinine things that fly out of my mouth in the heat of the moment. Whether it be a hoarse, sweaty, "I love you" in the midst of lovemaking or a boisterous, unladylike howl after busting my ass to win a tennis match, I've been no stranger to speaking before thinking.  
  
But of all things to say to Will as I forced him out of the car a few minutes ago, I had to go and say that I had driven out to the middle of nowhere (which is true) with a broken radio (completely false). What was I thinking? I mean, have you seen my car? A gleaming new 2002 Volkswagen Passat -- no way in hell that this little darlin' has a broken anything. And I'm sure Will knows that, being the intelligent (albeit piggish and totally insensitive) guy that he is.  
  
Y'know, I did make a valiant effort. By the time I got to the whole "No, you're nowhere" comment, I was feeling pretty vindicated. (Who am I kidding? The only thing that would've made me feel vindicated would've been a solid, pointy-toe boot to his groin). But then I had to go and say the broken radio bit. 

Classic Jenny behavior.   
  
Men -- I don't think I'll ever understand them. It could be just me, but I've had way too many hot and heavy relationships go sour as soon as I try to talk about anything more personal than who brought the condom. And I'm sick of it. I thought Will was different -- a nice guy with a good heart. I thought he cared for me. I thought he was interested in more than just sex. And, like many times before, I was completely wrong. 

Men like me. Hey, I can admit it. They like my thick hair, my long legs, my shapely figure. They like how I make them feel when they're around me. But love? I must not be that kinda' girl. They couldn't care less about anything I have to say. How many of them have taken the time to really get to know me?   
  
I mistakenly believed Will, with his caring eyes and gentle voice, was genuinely interested in me. I mean, sure we had a lot of fun together, like he said, but there were times we really talked. He actually listened to some of my college stories, laughing at all the right parts. He nodded, a tiny strip of teeth peeking out from that gorgeous grin, as I revealed the inner-workings of my sorority (the bitching, the backstabbing, all of the bullshit). He listened intently when I gave my opinion on his story angles, his glasses perched on his nose, his ice blue eyes piercing into mine. And he gave me advice on being a good reporter, most of which was actually useful.

I'm not too sure I want to do that anymore, though. Seeing how Will became so possessed by this Danny Hecht story -- how he lived and breathed it -- makes me think twice about hard journalism. I think I'd be much better off doing features, fashion pieces, with soft, catchy leads instead of your standard murder story with an equally standard style. I don't know - I'm still young enough to get away with not knowing what exactly I want to do with my life. I guess if nothing else pans out, I could always use my experience as an advice columnist. Dr. Jenny – I like the sound of that.   
  
Will did encourage me, though, saying that I had some great potential to be an influential writer. And although I did nothing more than fuck the boss by night and research his stories by day, I think he really meant it. But that doesn't mean I've forgiven him for what he did today. As angry as I am -- not to mention humiliated -- I'm not surprised. Maybe a little taken aback by the timing, yes, but not surprised. Just because I'm attractive doesn't mean I'm stupid. I'm smart enough to put all of this behind me -- the job, the boyfriend, all of this bullshit.   
  
I get on the interstate, not caring if I'm already pressing 85mph, and I press the power button of my car radio. Mary J is singing "No More Drama" -- that gal knows her shit. I slowly grin, shaking my head, picturing the shocked look on Will's face when I slammed on the brakes, telling him to get out of my car. Stranded in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but those mysterious bruises for company. Serves him right. Hope he gets mistaken for a gigolo and gets propositioned. 

  
As for me, I'm relieved to be putting this drama behind me. And I'm glad my radio works.

It's a long drive back home. 


End file.
